


Pyrrhus at Asculum

by Yognautical (KiiKitsune)



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:51:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2129115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiiKitsune/pseuds/Yognautical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strife and The Storm Sage strike a deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pyrrhus at Asculum

Strife has been teleported away twice by the time Kirin finds him at the bridge. He’s teleported three more times before Kirin finally shows himself. 

Huffing and smoothing his ruffled clothes, Strife stands just outside the border and says, “Finally. I need to talk to you.”

“Well, you certainly are persistent, so I’m guessing it must be important.” 

“You saw that? How long did you just sit there watching?” Strife scowls, “You mages are all assholes.”

“And yet you still seem to be spending all your free time with Parvis.” Kirin leans against the bridge railing, clearly amused.

“Actually, that’s why I’m here. I want you to stop… enabling him.” 

Kirin laughs. “Do you think he’ll stop then? He was deep into it when I found him. He’s already too far gone.”

Strife’s jaw clenches. “He’ll come around.”

“Amazing. That’s some pretty strong denial you’ve got going on there, William. You can’t save people from themselves.”

“Look,” Strife glances away, then back again, “I just… I know him. He can’t be trusted with any sort of power. He’s an idiot and he’ll get himself killed. And you want to just help him along?”

“I never claimed to be altruistic in my dealings with him.” 

“You want him dead?”

“No. He’s useful.” Kirin makes a vague hand gesture, “I like it when he owes me.”

“So you’re just using him.” Strife’s expression somehow turns even sourer.

“Everyone uses everybody for something. You use him too. For menial labour, as you claim, or… otherwise. At least I’m honest about what I want from him.”

“You--” Strife steps forward and vanishes. 

Kirin chuckles. Not waiting for Strife to return, he flies down into the nearby forest where he knows the wards deposited the other man.

Fuming, Strife is stalking through the underbrush, hacking at the branches that get in his way with a sword. Kirin descends through the tangled canopy to sit on a thick branch a few feet above him.

“Perhaps we can work out a trade.”

Strife startles. It takes him a moment to find where Kirin is perched. He narrows his eyes. “Go on.”

“I’ll leave Parvis alone. No favours. No deals. No contact. I’ll even consider his outstanding debts to me null and void.” He drums his fingers on the branch as he speaks, feeling the pull of the tree’s natural essence on his own magic, “And in exchange you’ll owe me. Just one thing.”

“And what would that be?”

“That’s to be decided at a later date. No questions asked on your part, of course.”

“I’m not agreeing to doing something when I don’t even know what it is,” Will brandished his sword in Kirin’s general direction, “What kind of a fool do you take me for?”

“The kind who cares about Parvis more than he’d like to admit.” 

The words obviously rankle at Strife, but the man says nothing. 

“How about I sweeten the deal then?” Kirin pushes off from the branch, landing feather-light in front of Will. “That armour he made. You know what it will do to him if someone sabotages his altar or he runs out of blood, correct?”

“It’ll kill him to keep itself alive.”

“Yes. I’ll take it from him and destroy it.”

“He’ll just make it again.”

“It’s expensive. It’ll take him time to rebuild. Which, in turn, will give you time to convince him to ‘see the light’, so to speak.”

There is a crease in Strife’s brow that Kirin reads as contemplation. He moves in for the kill.

“That’s my offer, William. Take it or leave it. Either way, one of you will end up owing me. Would you rather it be him?”

“…Fine.”

Kirin holds out his hand. Strife’s fits nicely with his own; both broad, with work-calloused fingers. Kirin squeezes, sending a thread of electricity skipping down Strife’s lifeline. The man yelps and jerks his hand back, a small patch of skin burnt and black. 

“So you don’t forget our deal,” Kirin explains. “I’ll see you when I come to collect.”

He steps back and, with a vortex of golden runes, he is gone.

Strife swallows the bile rising in the back of his throat and closes his fingers over his damaged palm. It will all be worth it. It has to be.


End file.
